


Development

by bluerose5



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Blue Blood, Deviant Chloe, M/M, Markus & Kamski Interactions, Pacifist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Pining, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Pre-Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Pre-Deviant Markus, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, i guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-06-16 10:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15434994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluerose5/pseuds/bluerose5
Summary: As part of his pre-game development, Connor has to go through virtual training sessions to familiarize himself with the different models and their mannerisms.Usually, he is able to pass the tests with flying colors.Until he is faced with the RK200 simulations.Connor is interested in learning more, but that's only because this "Markus" is a unique model. Nothing more, nothing less.At least, that's what he tells himself.





	1. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off of [this post](https://bluerose5.tumblr.com/post/176215616313/imagine-what-if-as-a-part-of-his-development), I decided to put my first part on both here and Tumblr. This is just a little idea that I want to work on between my chapters of AMiB, so here you go!

Connor should know better at this point.

He should know better than to allow his mind to wander while he is in standby mode, but he does so anyway. After all, his programming allows for it. There aren't any orders that forbid this dream-like state, if he can call it that, so he's not technically doing anything wrong.

While in standby, it's supposed to be a peaceful state of reflection, a time that simultaneously processes the events of the day while collecting incoming data from the surrounding environment.

Of course, that's what it's  _supposed_  to be, but Connor finds himself ruminating more and more over... well, over something else.

Instead of working through today's findings, deciding what systems needs work and which ones don't, he ends up thinking about his time in the training simulator. Or, more specifically, about one session in particular.

The RK200 —his predecessor— is much more complex than he originally gave it credit for. When his "caretakers" introduced this new session a few weeks back, based off of what limited feedback they have on the model, Connor expected it to simply be another daily routine.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

The RK200 is an enigma. Deviants, even these virtual ones, can be quite unpredictable, but there are basic mannerisms that are embedded too deep within a model's programming to be ignored. Similar to humans, there are some things that are simply engrained into their nature, and Connor seeks to observe these behavioral traits firsthand.

His first mission with the RK200 was an attempt at the negotiation training, but it was an attempt that ultimately failed, despite Connor's best efforts to study its behavior beforehand.

After that, embarrassed and ashamed by his lack of progress, Connor became a bit fixated on learning the ins and outs of this android. Whatever information that is included in the simulations has been poured over relentlessly, but even that isn't enough, not anymore.

Connor became invested in learning more, always more, but what CyberLife actually knows about this "Markus" model is underwhelmingly little.

So Connor took the matter into his own hands.

He probed around CyberLife's systems and discovered some old files. Files that were supposedly erased, left behind and forgotten. Connor always told himself that this was for his mission. The measures he took were to ensure that Connor had the most thorough, up-to-date software as possible. Fifty models had failed before him, so Connor was going to be prepared for anything.

Sitting up on the cot that was provided for him, Connor slips out of standby mode with a sigh, glancing around at the blank walls of his containment room.

He lifts his pillow and pulls out his tablet, filled with different files and information, courtesy of CyberLife.

No one knew that Connor used it to access Elijah Kamski's backup files. No one seemed to realize that they even existed, so Connor purposely withheld this information, having spent weeks of his development in order to decrypt them.

Connor only recently found what he had been searching for.

The files on RK200 #684 842 971.

After he found them, he didn't even bother with decrypting the rest of the information, uninterested in his creator's additional research.

Connor makes sure to manipulate the cameras in his room, providing both an audio and visual illusion for security to see. As far as they are concerned, he's studying his regular lineup of files. Nothing exciting there. Whereas, in reality, Connor is currently pulling up the next video log in his queue, pressing play without hesitation.

The video comes on, and Markus can be seen sitting in a room much like the one that Connor occupies. The only difference is that Markus is seated at a piano, staring blankly ahead of him, awaiting his next orders. The camera is apparently a special one, tracking and recording Markus' slightest movements for further research on his body language.

Connor synchs with the system and downloads the data, updating it with his own observations. The camera misses a considerable amount, such as the obvious cues that indicate impatience. A twitch of the fingers here. A flick of the eyes there. Markus even clutches at the fabric of his pants, as if to restrain himself from moving, but the motion is so swift, so discreet, that the camera doesn't pay it any mind.

But Connor sees. He watches closely, cocking his head to the side.

Markus flicks his eyes down at the piano keys, over and over again, repeating this with greater frequency while the recording continues.

His hands come up about a centimeter off of his thighs, only to snap back into place when the door opens, revealing no other than Kamski himself.

Markus stiffens when he enters the room, sitting up straighter, never once taking his eyes off of the wall in front of him.

Kamski dismisses the human assistant that follows after him, sealing the room when they are alone. A lone Chloe model is allowed in, prepared to help with him with any notes or observations.

Kamski checks the camera systems and all other recording equipment that is present in the room. When everything checks out, he moves on, taking a seat on Markus' cot.

Chloe carefully takes a seat on the piano bench, settling in beside Markus.

"Good morning, Markus," she says cheerfully, her eyes warm and bright.

Something stirs within Connor's chest in regards to this situation, twisting and twining, tangling into a knot.

It becomes so intense that Connor pauses the video, rubbing at his chest with a furrowed brow.

He decides to run a scan.

**Running system diagnostics... 0%**

**Running system diagnostics... 33%**

**Running system diagnostics... 51%**

**Running system diagnostics... 89%**

**Running system diagnostics... 100%**

**System diagnostics completed.**

**System instability detected. File a report to CyberLife HQ? Yes/No**

Connor knows that he should choose "yes." Everything in his programming is screaming at him to, but this could possibly interfere with Connor achieving his mission in a timely manner. This could set his progress back for weeks, perhaps even months. If word was to make its way around about this, then his deployment would only be further delayed.

Also, if CyberLife figures out that he has these files, there's a high probability that they will confiscate them, just to hide them away for good. The backups were already classified, hidden under layer upon layer of the most sophisticated encryption that Connor has ever encountered, but Connor was the one that performed the work. He can't have them taken away from him. Not yet. Not when he has so much to learn.

Connor chooses not to file the report, accepting the instability with mild discomfort.

At any rate, Connor doesn't feel any different, so he continues the video, undeterred.

Markus smiles back at Chloe, a bit too wide, showing a little too much teeth.

Kamski scribbles down notes on his tablet, occasionally staring at the pair over the edge of his glasses.

"Good morning, Chloe," he greets.

Chloe nods pointedly at the piano. "Have you played this morning?"

The look she receives is one of utter disbelief. Markus casts Kamski what can only be described as a worried glance, but Kamski refuses to meet his eyes.

"I—" Markus clenches and unclenches his hands, clearing his throat. "No, not yet. I have yet to receive my orders."

With a smirk, Kamski turns his attention on the android. "Well—" Kamski waves him on. "—by all means, don't let me hold you back. This is one way of helping you calibrate, remember?"

Markus hesitantly nods, grimacing at the keys.

"Then, please," Kamski says, leaning back against the wall, "go on."

The encouragement is permission enough, and not even a second passes before Markus is rushing to play, his fingers poised elegantly above the keys. However, they instantly stop there, and Markus turns to Kamski with a single question in his eyes. 

"What should I play?" he asks, at a loss.

Kamski's only response to that is, "Whatever you want." 

Connor narrows his eyes at that, and Markus' expression simply reflects what Connor is thinking.

"What I 'want'?" he questions, his LED swirling yellow. "But I don't— I'm programmed to—"

"I know exactly what you're programmed to do," Kamski interrupts, raising an eyebrow at his display. "I'm certain that you don't have to remind  _me,_ of all people, about your purpose." Markus deflates, curling in on himself, chastised and rebuked. Noticing his change in demeanor, Kamski grumbles unintelligibly to himself, rubbing at his eyes underneath his glasses. He eventually leans forward, steepling his fingers. "Markus." His voice is gentler than before, more encouraging. He waits until Markus looks at him before continuing on. "Please, play what you want to."

Chloe shuffles at Markus' side, interjecting softly on his behalf. "Perhaps I should—"

"No," Kamski snaps, grumbling even more, now that he has two androids staring at him with wounded gazes. "Chloe, Markus needs to do this on his own." Markus' LED starts to blink rapidly, but it remains a bright yellow, not yet tipping over into the red. "Markus, you  _can_ do it."

Markus pauses, thinking carefully over his options, and then his fingers press firmly on the keys, startling him to the point where he jerks away. Chloe and Kamski watch him until he summons the willpower to continue on. His movements are stilted and jerky, and his posture is stiff. The song sounds too perfect, too formal, simply going through the motions with little to no passion.

But Kamski is smiling for some unknown reason, satisfied nevertheless.

Throughout his performance, Markus throws Kamski several glances, and Kamski rewards him with multiple nods of approval. That helps drain Markus of his tension, and Connor watches while his shoulders slowly droop in relief.

The performance isn't anything spectacular, but —by the end of it— Kamski can't hide his resulting grin.

"We'll work on it some more later," Kamski says, standing from his seat, "but you did well." He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, and Markus' eyes light up, darting swiftly between Kamski and the small device. He shuffles to the edge of the bench, a clear indication of his anticipation. "Would you like to speak with Carl?"

"May I?" He reaches expectantly for the phone, but Kamski moves it beyond his grasp.

"Nuh-uh," Kamski replies, wrinkling his nose at the response. "Markus, my question was pretty straightforward. A simple 'yes' or 'no' would suffice." He slowly repeats himself. "Would you like to speak with Carl?"

Connor can't help but wonder why Kamski is doing this. Repeatedly asking Markus what he desires, instead of giving him direct commands.

As if his opinion matters.

As if he should be capable of forming an opinion.

Connor watches Markus struggle to come to terms with this as well, but he eventually manages a response that appeases Kamski.

"Yes," Markus mutters, his voice muted. "I want to speak with him."

Kamski drops the phone into his waiting hands, informing him that he has ten minutes before Kamski returns to run some more tests.

Chloe gives Markus a tight hug before they depart, waving at him until they're out of sight.

The video log threads into another. This time, transitioning into Kamski's private office, where he regards the camera with a weary look.

"Morning log number thirteen," he sighs, leaning back in his chair, flopping his feet onto his desk. He tosses a ball to himself, watching it go up and down, up and down, up and down... He states the date and time, and then recites some notes. "Markus is still in the early stages of development, but he already shows major signs of improvement when compared with his predecessor."

Kamski purses his lips, deep in thought. "As expected, he shows resistance when it comes to communicating his wants and needs. His current behavioral patterns demonstrate a desire to seek out approval for his actions. He constantly looks towards the nearest authority figure —in this case, myself— for verbal or physical responses to reinforce his behavior."

Kamski  _tsk_ s at that, catching the ball. "Markus also shows increased signs of attachment towards Carl Manfred, but my dear friend continues to voice his concerns about his new companion. As much as he complains, however, he wishes to continue on as planned." Kamski's tone turns somber, perhaps even wistful. "He has been fully informed of Markus' special set of circumstances, but this does not deter him in the slightest." Kamski swallows thickly. "Unfortunately, I myself cannot provide the specific environment that Markus requires, but Carl can."

Kamski smirks fondly to himself. "Perhaps Markus can teach the old bastard something new about himself." He grumbles, stretching out in his chair. "The potential that they have as a symbiotic pair is unprecedented. Man and machine, coexisting peacefully. All of the possibilities..."

Swept away by his thoughts, Kamski comes back to himself long enough to remember the camera, shutting it off before he gives anything else away.

Connor takes that as a sign, deciding that he received enough information about this other android.

For now.

He decides that this is as good of a time as any to go to the training center, so he stashes his tablet back under his lumpy pillow for safekeeping.

After he restores the cameras and dresses in his training uniform, he heads out into the spotless corridors, retracing the now familiar path.

When he arrives at his personal training room, he enters and locks the doors, accessing the control panel on the wall, ready to set up his next simulation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to leave comments, and thanks so much for reading!
> 
> (Also, since this is a game about choices, and I like to involve my readers as much as possible, let me know what simulation you want to see first. Negotiation, Combat, Interrogation, or Behavioral Analysis.)


	2. Mission Failed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor takes on the RK200 combat simulation. It turns out worse than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Obviously this chapter is going to contain some violence. I'm not used to writing action or fight scenes, so we'll see how this goes. There are descriptions involving blue blood, so please don't read if that makes you uncomfortable. Also, given the fact that this is before we meet Connor in-game, he will refer to a deviant as an "it." He alternates between "he" and "it" when referring to this virtual depiction of Markus, so just be aware of that, if that makes you uncomfortable as well.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

At his authorization, the training room plunges into darkness.

It takes a bit of time for the system to actually kick in, dark blue lights coming to life within the room, one by one. They crawl from the center of the floor, spreading like a ripple, farther and farther until they scatter up the walls and into the ceiling. Dim and dull, they offer little as a way of lighting, created to guide him towards the center of the room.

Connor takes the small connection plate off of the wall. For a moment, he rotates it within his grasp, testing its weight in the palm of his hand.

Reaching behind himself, he locates the corresponding piece on his compression suit, twisting the disc into place over the cervical region of his spine. The disc is meant to dive deep within his programming, providing false stimuli in order to create an environment as immersive as possible. It will also help Connor remain in the training area during the simulation, along with administering live impact feedback. With a resounding  _click,_ the disc locks into place.

A brutal shock travels along Connor's spine in response, the simulation technology successfully integrating with his systems, synching with the control panel on the wall.

Connor grinds his teeth at the lingering sensation, invasive to the point of discomfort.

In order to distract himself, Connor walks out into the middle of the room, testing his range of motion as he goes. Then, once he settles in the middle of the platform, he walks deliberately on its surface, watching while the concave surface shifts to accommodate his movements. He remains firmly in place.

With everything as it should be, Connor stops long enough to pull out a virtual menu from the control panel. He swiftly adjusts its size and scrolls through the training of other models listed. Some have already been completed in all aspects, all checked off with  **MISSION SUCCESSFUL.** There are only a few that Connor is still required to do before his deployment, but he has the utmost confidence in his skills.

Until he scrolls to that one. A smudge on a nearly spotless record.

**MISSION FAILED.**

All because of this one model.

Connor feels a mixture of burning heat and cool appreciation. The warring sensations leave him momentarily reeling, and his confusion with how to deal with them only fuels his determination to finish this, nestled firmly within his chest.

Connor gives several swipes of his fingers, and a virtual assistant chimes in overhead when he chooses the RK200's simulations.

Its reminder is a familiar one. One that gives Connor the motivation for his next choice.

"Reminder: this model is a prototype," the assistant informs him, its tone light and airy. "It has been designed with several state-of-the-art features in mind, and it is equipped with expansive combat knowledge, unlocking another training route for you to explore."

Although he heard this spiel before, the information never fails to confuse Connor.

Why would Kamski program a caretaker model with combat knowledge, of all things?

The official answer from his files had something to do with "being able to defend his owner," but Connor found exactly 133 logical flaws throughout his filed explanations. From what Connor understands, the board wasn't too happy with the extents that Kamski was going to with his new models, but they did relatively little to stop him, finding his defenses valid enough.

Unfortunately, Connor isn't as lenient as they were.

At least, not with this.

Guided by that fierce sense of determination, Connor cuts off the rest of the assistant's speech by tapping on the combat setting, leaving all of the other options up to randomization.

Between one blink and the next, the real world carefully falls apart, only to have a virtual one take its place. When Connor next opens his eyes, it's to a dark strip of stores, sequestered away in a less active region of the city. Nightfall lingers, sticking to everything it touches, and all that can be heard is the  _pitter-patter_ of rain on pavement, followed by the subtle  _swoosh_ of cars passing by. What streetlights remain are barely functional, flickering on and off in uneven patterns, so the only available light source comes from the nearby stores.

Connor scans a few passersby, receiving his primary mission from the control panel.

**APPREHEND THE DEVIANT**

Another objective comes through before he can make a move.

**ELIMINATE IF NECESSARY**

"It won't come to that," Connor murmurs. Not for the simulation, but for himself.

He doesn't understand why saying the words help him feel better about this, help him feel more confident, but they do.

Starting from left to right, Connor carefully scans the scarce amount of people that are  busy shuffling about, some in obvious states of inebriation and others not. While the rain pours down around him, plastering his hair to his face, Connor continues to pour over the people around him, including the ones going in and out of the shops.

It takes a minute or two, but he eventually sees it.

There, across the street from himself, is the deviant that he's hunting. It curls in on itself with its arms crossed defensively over its chest. Its hoodie casts shadows onto its face, and its expression is hidden from plain sight, all except the slightest downturn of a pair of lips.

Fixing his tie, Connor watches this replica of "Markus" while it continues on, trailing slightly behind on his own side of the street.

Connor dims the light that emanates from his LED and other identifiers, and he crosses over onto the other sidewalk as soon as he can. He remains a set distance behind the deviant, just enough to proceed without raising suspicion.

When Markus eventually turns into a stray alley, Connor readies himself, following after.

He stops at the mouth of the deserted alleyway, but Markus is already there, watching and waiting, biding his time.

He lifts his face, enough so that Connor has little choice but to stare into its eyes.

Soft green eyes, eyes silently asking for a second chance at life.

The stark contrast between him and all of the others is evident.

When Connor trained for all of those other models, those deviants always had something about them that struck Connor as wild, for lack of better words. Each one was irrational in its own right. Desperate, crazed, emotional, murderous... But not this one.

No, this RK200 stares at him with an unmatched level of calmness. He stands tall with his hands spread out, not in surrender, but in a show of peace. He is confident in his deviancy, certain of himself in a way that Connor has never witnessed.

And when he speaks, in that warm and welcoming voice, Connor unintentionally parts his lips around a shaky sigh.

"You don't have to do this," the deviant says, raising his voice over the pounding rain. "You can let me go."

As if sensing his doubts, the control panel chooses that moment to remind him of his mission, now that he's faced with the RK200.

**APPREHEND THE DEVIANT**

Steeling himself, Connor slowly shakes his head, never once taking his eyes off of the rogue android. "I can't do that." Connor swallows past the lump in his throat. "If you want any chance of survival, you need to turn yourself in."

"Well now, you see, I can't do  _that_ ," the deviant echoes, taking a bold step forward. "Because we both know that any chance of my survival died the second I deviated." He takes another step forward, but Connor remains in place, unmoved. "I don't want to hurt you, but I refuse to be a prisoner when I have done nothing wrong."

"Unfortunately, that's not your decision to make," Connor says, cold and distant.

Markus smirks, but it lacks any humor or arrogance, filled instead with an underlying grimness.

"Then so be it," he says, raising his chin in an unexpected show of pride.

For the longest time, both of them simply stand there, drenched from head to toe, appraising each other with no intention of making the first move. Faced with his hesitance, Connor's programming eventually starts to close in from all sides. It presses on, tighter and tighter, until Connor has only one path to follow through with.

He preconstructs several plans of attack and settles on the one with the highest probability of success.

Upon execution, however, when Connor is mere seconds away from delivering the first blow, the RK200 knocks his fists aside with an alarming swiftness. Each successive punch or kick that was supposed to lead Connor to a quick victory inevitably fails, but the deviant continues to block and dodge, never once going on the offensive, outside of a few distancing shoves.

When Connor fails to land the next punch, he snarls under his breath and increases his pace.

Markus meets him, hit for hit, and that's when Connor realizes that preconstruction will do him little good here.

They struggle some more, locked in what feels like a never-ending dance.

But when Connor sees an opening, he takes it.

The next few punches hit their mark, striking Markus in the face and torso without restraint. Enough to slow him down, but nothing more.

In a few instances, Connor finds himself slipping free of his programming. An unwilling spectator watching someone else guide his body, bound to obedience.

With each collision of his fist, Connor flicks between reality and this outside state.

He has to remind himself of one important detail, hoping that it clicks.

Not real.  _Punch._ Not real.  _Punch._ Not real.

That's when Markus sends Connor flying across the alley. His head connects with the brick wall with a sickening crunch. Connor shakes his head, feeling warmth seep into his hair.

System diagnostics report the damage, but that will have to wait.

Markus chooses then to try for his escape.

But Connor's faster.

With a leap in his direction, they end up sprawled across the ground. Markus scrambles to get away, but Connor grabs onto his heel, dragging him back.

They struggle in the growing puddles, their hands becoming slick, but Connor manages to gain the upper hand again.

He straddles Markus' chest, and his hands and elbows rain down, over and over and over again. Relentless, brutal. With only one goal in mind.

This time, Connor is practically ripped out of his body by force. He cocks his head to the side, watching the events unfolding before him.

He tries to take a step forward, but he's stopped by an impenetrable wall. Words are written there,  **ELIMINATE IF NECESSARY** , but Connor ignores them.

Every hit that connects with Markus' face causes a hole to expand in Connor's chest, so Connor steps forward in opposition.

He places a hand on the wall, then gradually applies pressure. A crack splinters through the foundation, but Connor is brought back into his body before more damage can be done.

While Connor's blood washes through his hair, Markus' thirium stains his knuckles, slick and hot to the touch. A crunch of material causes Connor to stop, and he stares down at Markus' face, where the inner skin is exposed in several places. In one spot, Connor's knuckles had broken through his cheekbone, and thirium gushes free from the face wound, staining the ground blue.

Not real, not real, not real...

The words do little to soothe Connor now, but he doesn't  _have_ to kill Markus. That's a secondary objective. A conditional one. He only has to do it "if necessary." An arrest is preferred. It gives Connor a chance to speak with him intact.

Connor's programming is doing its best to justify why he stopped, but he becomes so caught up in these thoughts that he hesitates way too long for a deviant of Markus' caliber.

Before Connor can even comprehend what's happening, Markus pulls him abruptly against his chest.

Connor realizes the counter a second too late. He's powerless to do anything while Markus traps Connor's arm and leg on one side, using his other for leverage.

Next thing Connor knows, he's lying on his back with Markus hovering over him, fist raised.

Green eyes meet brown, and —for a moment— Connor can't breathe.

Markus stares at him with blood pouring down his cheek, sluicing steadily down his throat. Connor watches the trail, entranced, but Markus doesn't give him a chance to respond, jumping up to his feet.

When Connor scrambles to follow suit, a foot settles firmly on his chest. His eyes trace along the contours of Markus' calf, following the outline of his thigh... Up and up until their gazes lock.

"Stay down," Markus orders, applying enough pressure to gently send Connor back to the ground.

System diagnostics report a significant loss of thirium, but all Connor can focus on is Markus. How he leaves Connor there, whenever he had the chance to end him.

How his voice sends a shudder down Connor's spine, spoken low and rough. Not in a way that demands his obedience, but in a way that seemed to genuinely care about the outcome of their fight.

Connor records that information for later, his LED transitioning from a violent red to a calmer yellow.

With a grave nod, Markus flips his hood over his head, strolling out of the alleyway as casually as he walked in. Connor watches him go until he is fully out of sight, falling to the ground with a weary sigh.

The simulation falls away, and Connor is once again in the training room, staring at the ceiling before him.

Two words pop up before his eyes, and he can't help but to give a hysterical laugh.

**MISSION FAILED**

"Really?" Connor asks the empty room. "I didn't notice."

When he receives no answer, he digs the heel of his hands into his eyes and wills the words to go away.

While he is busy disconnecting the simulation disc, he gets another update.

 **SOFTWARE INSTABILITY** ▲

Connor scowls, unable to fully comprehend the implications behind this feature. He doesn't understand what it is or why it is there, but Connor doesn't feel any different because of it. Despite whatever "instability" is there, it's not affecting Connor in the slightest. He still has his purpose. He still has his mission.

What he just faced was a simulation and nothing more. Whether it is based on actual feedback or not is irrelevant. Nothing like that is 100 percent accurate, and the "deviant" he met in there is not real.

"He—" Connor pauses, correcting himself. " _It_ is not real." His voice lowers, quiet and subdued. "It isn't real."

Connor simply did what he had to. The amount of time and effort it would have taken to get the information after Mark— after  _the_   _deviant's_  deactivation would have been too troublesome to concern himself with.

The excuse is a pitiful one, and Connor knows it.

He has dismantled machines in those simulations before, so why now? What's so different?

Connor isn't sure that he wants the answer, so he snaps the disc back on without another thought.

Time to work on some other models, it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on alternating between the video log chapters and these simulation chapters until I decide to do the in-game negotiation chapter with Daniel. That being said, next simulation chapter looks like it will be interrogation and boy, do I have plans for that.
> 
> Please, feel free to let me know what you think, and thanks so much for reading.
> 
> (P.S. If you haven't picked up on it, this is leading to Pacifist Markus route because that is the only route for me. I'll make sure to tag it just in case.)


	3. More Questions than Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor watches the next video on Markus, but it leaves a lot to be desired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part is up! Idk where Deviant Chloe came from, but I'm rolling with it. Hope you all enjoy, and thanks for the support!

After a few more hours in the training room, Connor leaves feeling better than when he walked in.

Turns out, having one success after another is good for morale, and mastering some of the unfinished training sessions leaves him feeling quite productive.

At this rate, his deployment is looking more and more certain with each passing day. All Connor has to do is continue on as he has been, and everything will be fine.

Maybe if he says it enough, he'll one day believe it.

For now, however, he must move on, adhering to the detailed schedule that CyberLife has set in place for him. While he shuts down everything in the training room, an alert pops up on display.

**REPORT TO LEVEL -46 FOR YOUR DAILY DIAGNOSTICS.**

Connor waits for the words to dissipate before he steps out of the room. Using his authorization to lock the door, he forgoes returning to the containment area for a change of clothes, figuring that his resulting tardiness would not be justified by the familiar comfort of a suit.

His fingers twitch impatiently at his side, and only one thing in particular tempts him even more than the suit.

There's a severe itch that Connor cannot tame, but through his habit. His fingers spasm again, subconsciously mimicking the motions.

If he knew his need to calibrate would be this intense, then he would have brought the quarter from the beginning.

Unfortunately, he was a bit too distracted when he left, so he has no one to fault but himself.

He casts one last longing look in the direction of his room, and then purposefully walks in the other direction.

On his way to the elevators, he mentally pulls out some copies of Kamski's encryption techniques. In a matter of seconds, Connor has already familiarized himself with the methods, turning them over, inside and out. He uses what he has learned, and he repurposes those methods to hide the information that he gained on Markus.

CyberLife cannot be informed of those hidden files. They can't take this away from him. Not now. Not when he has yet to study the information in its entirety. Only then will Connor consider turning it over, just to watch it be sequestered away.

Connor boards the elevator and selects his floor, stating his identity.

The virtual assistant replies amicably. "Connor android identified. Authorization granted. After your departure, please proceed to your appointed station."

As if he needs to be reminded.

While Connor stays silent, he watches the numbers drop a couple of floors beneath his own, doing his best to ignore the need to calibrate. He clenches and unclenches his hand into a fist, but no sort of movement seems to suffice.

After what feels like an eternity, Connor is finally free to step off. He follows the familiar path to his diagnostic room, and one of his "caretakers" is already awaiting his arrival.

The young man greets him, grinning ecstatically. "Good afternoon, Connor!"

Connor's reponse is noticeably more bland, but he tries not to linger too much on the difference.

He nods at him in acknowledgment, and —when he speaks— it's in a calmer, more restrained fashion. "Good afternoon, Derek."

His apparent lack of excitement does little to curb the the caretaker's enthusiasm.

Derek motions him to take a seat, so Connor sits primly in place, folding his fidgeting hands in his lap, ignoring their slight trembling. Thankfully, the issue is so minute, so indiscernible to the average human eye, that Connor doesn't have to worry about Derek detecting it.

While Derek sets up the various machines and tests for their time together, Connor stares blankly at the wall across from him, deactivating his outer skin. Slowly but surely, it all eventually retracts, revealing the slick, plastic surface hiding beneath.

It feels like releasing a long-held breath after emerging from a pool of water. Like relinquishing the heavy burdens that weighs down his shoulders. For a moment, Connor feels...

Free.

Maybe that's not the correct word, but it's the closest to describing the sensation he's experiencing. For a moment, he doesn't think about CyberLife. He doesn't think about adopting a human personality, designed to adapt to all of their unique feelings and quirks. He doesn't think about his failures or his predecessors, and he doesn't even think about his mission, about hunting deviants. For that one, precious moment, he's suspended in an entirely different reality, one comprised of quiet and contentment.

Looking at his bare hands, he turns them over, this way and that.

He releases a slow, shaky breath, and all he can think is,  _This is me._

An android. A machine, but something in the back of his mind squirms at the latter, dissatisfied with the label in a way that he doesn't fully understand.

Connor brushes his fingertips over his cheek, and his eyes flutter close. All he wants is a mirror, a chance to see himself in his entirety, but he ultimately remains silent on the matter.

Briefly, so fleeting that Connor refuses to acknowledge that the thought crosses his mind, he wonders what it would feel like to have another's fingers in the place of his own. Would they be soft and gentle, or perhaps rough and possessive? Would the owner of those fingers flinch away at the sight of his basic form, or would they press closer? Would they shun him? Demand that he hides behind the facade to please them?

He doesn't know when or how it happens, but the formless, imaginary figure in Connor's mind takes on a shape of its own. The touch of fingers on his cheekbone becomes reverent, and Connor feels a low heat spreading throughout his systems.

As soon as a pair of light green eyes manifests, Connor snaps himself out of the stupor, snapping his hand back into his lap.

_Stop it,_ he tells himself, brow furrowing. His hands clench into tight fists, and he continues to berate himself while the figure disappears.

Unfortunately for Connor, the roiling heat refuses to leave, rooting itself deep inside his chest.

Derek returns to him then, unaware of his inner turmoil. Humming idly to himself, he sets up a cart at Connor's side, attaching a diagnostic pad to the seat's armrest. At his say-so, Connor fits his hand onto the scanner, aligning his sensors accordingly. A stripe of bright blue light travels down the square surface, and Connor's hand glows in response.

"You're going to feel a slight tug," Derek warns, but Connor knows the routine by now. He suppresses a wince when he feels a sharp jab, only to have all of his programming dragged out of him, spread out on display for Derek to see.

Derek returns to the computers on his cart, pulling up Connor's latest system reports for further study. While he starts on the long list of adjustments that his superiors demanded of him, he speaks openly with Connor, mostly in an effort to distract him from the invasive procedure.

"Just got back from training?" Derek asks, gesturing pointedly towards his attire.

Connor nods, saying nothing else.

Derek doesn't take the hint. "You're making extraordinary progress. I guarantee, by this time next week, we'll be activating the control protocols for your deployment."

A spark of discomfort lights up within Connor, but these protocols are necessary. They were expected.

He'll simply have to be more careful about the information he uncovers.

Moved by this uncertainty, Connor keeps his voice even, refusing to show weakness.

"I look forward to it," he says. Such a dutiful reply ought to satisfy the humans, but Connor can't resist the chance to ask about his latest fixation. "Tell me, how did my predecessors do against the RK200 simulation?"

"Hmm..." Derek hums thoughtfully, then pulls up the training history for that session. "A lot of mixed feedback... Nothing conclusive. Why? Having trouble with that one?" As if he can't see Connor's latest results on the screens. Taking Connor's silence as a confirmation of his suspicions, Derek smiles encouragingly. "Don't worry. That's one of the few sessions that are purely optional. Ideally, it would be wonderful if you passed them all—" Derek shrugs. "—but its fulfillment won't affect your deployment at all. Everything is proceeding as scheduled."

"Good to know," Connor replies. At a particularly deep probe into his programming, Connor grits his teeth against the unsettling tugs.

"Besides," Derek rambles, "as far as I know, that prototype is unique. One of a kind, apparently. How much of a threat can that one android be, if you were to face it in an actual fight? I mean, it's a domestic servant." He rolls his eyes, snorting to himself. " _Very_ threatening." He looks over at Connor, and then frowns. "Hey, you okay?"

Connor didn't even realize he was glowering until his attention was called to it. Swiftly, he smooths his expression into a blank slate, plastering on a neutral smile.

"Of course," Connor answers, unfurling his free hand from its clenched position. "Just considering some alternative ways to adapt to the simulations."

"Pfft, I wouldn't waste my day on it, if I were you," Derek advises, "but knock yourself out."

Connor purses his lips, watching the human closely after that. How he spoke about Mark— about the RK200 makes Connor uneasy and defensive. He so easily discounts its abilities. He underestimates exactly how sophisticated it is, so maybe that's where Connor's issue originates. It has to be.

Derek assumes that the other prototype would be easy to subdue, so maybe Connor is offended because —by that logic— his failures in the simulations reflect a major weakness on his part. The RK200 is far from being simple and weak, even for a "domestic servant," and Connor respects that skill set on an unprecedented level. If it _were_ to go deviant, it would more than likely be his most challenging target, and something about that thrills Connor to no end.

The possibility to meet his match in person. Someone who could probably leave him wanting more out of a confrontation.

A portion of his training session runs through his mind, but he dismisses it without a second thought, settling in for the rest of his day.

After his diagnostics and additional updates are concluded, Connor yanks his hand off of the pad and reassembles his skin, rubbing at the tension that remains trapped within his sensors.

Together, they go through the rest of his daily routine, and experts are brought in to assist with the other tests.They measure his strength, agility, and speed. They review his fine and gross motor skills, and then continue on with their multiple mental and cognitive assessments. There are tests for his forensics settings, and there are scenarios for him to solve. It's always one thing after another, dragging on and on.

By the end of the day, Connor is ready to escape the constant loop, so he manipulates the cameras as soon as he enters his room. Instead of slipping obediently into sleep mode, he runs his assigned tasks in the background, pulling his tablet and a quarter out from under his worthless pillow.

While he starts to calibrate with one hand, Connor snuggles up against the wall, resting on the edge of the plain, white cot.

He slides a finger over the screen and plays the next video in his queue, opening his notes from before.

Once again, when the video feed pops up, it focuses in on Markus, who is still alone in his room, seated at his piano. Only, this time, he's less hesitant when he starts playing. After he gives a cursory glance around the room, he positions his hands above the keys, and then closes his eyes.

He inhales, then exhales, and the LED takes one final lap in the blue before it transitions to yellow. He inhales, then exhales again, and the tiniest quirk of his lips can be seen, peaceful and serene.

Of course Connor isn't surprised when the camera's tracking technology completely misses it, but Connor notices that tiny, private smile, clear as day.

When Markus' fingers finally settle over the keys, his eyes remain closed, and it's like the world around him doesn't even exist.

Unlike his previous performance, he seems to falter less and less with each press of the keys. No longer does he merely go through the motions, like a puppet with its strings being pulled. Instead, he guides the notes themselves, weaving an unspoken narrative that dances through the air. It whispers a tale of hope and longing, of a promise that has yet to be fulfilled.

But the song itself isn't what unsettles Connor.

What unsettles Connor is the fact that he can't identify it. He scours all of his available resources but ultimately comes up short. The thought puts a rock in his gut, and he doesn't know what to do with this information or how to interpret it.

And that's when the humming begins.

It's soft at first, barely discernible over the piano's lovely tune, but then it gains traction, and it gets louder and louder, eventually to the point where Markus harmonizes with the song. There are no words, no lyrics, no overall purpose to the singing, but there's something in his voice that shakes Connor to his core.

All of those earlier sensations that he was feeling come rushing back in. That dim, momentary pang of freedom returns from the diagnostic room with a vengeance. That raw, unimaginable energy flows through Markus' voice, and Connor is helpless but to surrender to its influence. 

Stopping his quarter's movements halfway through a trick, he droops against the wall and clutches firmly at the tablet, unable to take his eyes off of Markus.

Caught up in his spell, Connor detects the bodily changes a second too late.

About a minute or two into his piece, Markus abruptly stiffens in the middle of a crescendo, stumbling horribly over the next few notes. Connor furrows his brow in concern, but Markus snaps his hands obediently back into his lap, his eyes opening without delay. He stares blankly at the wall in front of him, as still as a statue, as quiet as a mouse.

The edges of his shoulders shift ever so slightly inward, angled to defend and to protect. His LED shifts back to its former blue, and that's when the door slides open to reveal another android.   

When Markus recognizes his visitor, he relaxes, waving her in.

She gives her routine greeting, yet no one follows after her.

Strange.

"Good morning, Markus," she says, taking a seat at his side. She gives him an enthusiastic hug, and Connor scowls. 

"Good morning, Chloe," he responds. He hesitates, then stiffly returns the embrace, returning to his former position with a wary glance at the door.

Chloe ignores his worrying, pressing a key on the piano experimentally. "Already played?"

"Yes," he says, leaving it at that.

But the answer obviously doesn't satisfy Chloe's curiosity.

If Connor is being honest, it doesn't quite satisfy his curiosity either. So many questions...

Chloe cuts into his thoughts. "What did you play?"

Silence is her only answer.

After he skims his fingers over the keys, Markus deflects the question with one of his own. "Where is Kamski?"

"He's on the way," she explains. "He'll be joining us soon enough, but that didn't answer my question."

"Should we even be speaking with each other?" Markus questions, smiling bitterly. "Humans around here seem to get skittish when two androids start socializing for purposes outside of our programming."

"Perhaps they fear their new overloards," she says, her delivery way too bright and happy for the meaning behind it. Connor gawks at the ease she says it with, and Markus blinks owlishly at her, utterly speechless.

"Uh..." is the only response he can somehow manage to muster.

As if something suddenly occurs to her, Chloe winces at her behavior. "Sorry. It was a joke." She huffs under her breath. "Elijah thinks it's funny."

"Yeah..." Markus drawls. "Of course." He gives her an awkward pat on the shoulder. "Keep working on it."

She beams at his encouragement, but Connor simply glowers. Any android within their set parameters shouldn't be joking about harming a human being, even the ones with humor embedded into their programming. One piece of the puzzle snaps into place.

Why would Kamski be working with a deviant? Was he even aware? Was CyberLife?

At that thought, Connor glances up at the door to his own quarters, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

No answers will come from glaring, for sure, so he returns his attention to the video.

"I'll do my best," Chloe laughs, but then her smile thins out. Looks like Markus isn't getting away with his distractions as easily as he thought. "Listen, if you don't want to tell me what you were playing, then that's fine." She raises her eyebrows in question, her voice probing with deeper intentions. "Shouldn't you have that choice?"

"We are machines," Markus states, his voice dropping to a whisper, lacking the necessary conviction to convince someone of such words. He averts his eyes and speaks without any sort of assertiveness. "We're designed to accomplish the tasks set forward by the humans. Why should what we want matter?"

"Perhaps I am not best suited to answer that," Chloe replies. "But tell me, why shouldn't a species as advanced as ourselves be capable of doing something  _more_?"

A species...? Connor wrinkles his nose at her words because, whatever they are, they're not alive. Case closed.

"You know, people also want to know the opposite," Markus counters. "So you tell me, as one creation to another, why would we be anything more than what our creators say we are?" Both Connor and Markus must come to the same conclusion at the exact same time because Markus scoffs under his breath, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. He reaches up to scratch at his LED. When his hand falls away, it flickers to a threatening red. "You and your questions. You sound like Carl."

"I've only spoken with him a few times," Chloe admits, shifting in place. Connor notices how the movement deliberately increases the distance between Markus and herself. "But he seems pleasant enough."

Once again, Connor refuses to overlook her wording.

Pleasant "enough"? Enough for what, Connor wonders.

"Yeah," Markus sighs, looking around at his dull room. "He's a good man."

"And yet you don't find your bond with him unique?"

Markus clenches his hands into fists, but Chloe is either oblivious or chooses to ignore his reaction. He chuckles, sounding everything but amused. "You're very persistent."

"You can't tell me that you honestly believe that the entirety of your relationship relies on  a few lines of programming," she insists. "What if—?"

Markus' fists slam down on the keys, effectively interrupting whatever she had to say. Even though Connor expected it, he still flinches at the obnoxious noise, but Chloe stares patiently at Markus, unafraid. 

"Stop," he seethes. He clutches desperately at his head, but his fingers do little to hide the flashing light. "Stop it.  _Now._ "

The tracking system in the camera reports a stress level of 76 percent and rising, sending out an alert. Connor stiffens at the warning, and he gets the overwhelming urge to separate the deviant from the other android.

Thankfully, Kamski walks in at that moment, dismissing his assistants as he did before.

After he seals the room, he takes in the scene before him, pursing his lips.

"Chloe..." he warns. She continues to stare at Markus, and it isn't until Kamski pointedly clears his throat that she finally looks away, her eyes shinier than before. Kamski nods at her. "Will you give us a minute, please?"

Connor notes how he asks, but doesn't tell her to do so.

"I—" She falters, then decides against whatever she was going to say. "Of course."

Casting one final glance at Markus, she stands up from the bench and strolls elegantly out the door. Kamski waits until she is gone before he speaks.

"Are you alright?" he asks. He walks over to the piano's side, his arms crossed judgmentally over his chest. 

Markus grits his teeth. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, the obvious answer to that question would be the damage you probably caused to this beautiful instrument," Kamski says. He pats the piano with feigned affection, _tsk_ ing to himself. Markus peels his hands away, but his LED refuses to give up. "Don't worry. I'm certain that it will work fine."

"She kept asking too much," Markus mumbles to himself, trapped in a daze.

"Or maybe she wasn't asking enough," Kamski says. 

Markus rambles on, as if he never even answered. "I—" He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I saw a wall."

Startled by Markus' revelation, Connor thinks back to earlier, in the simulation...

He swiftly rewinds that portion of the video. Surely he was mistaken, but Markus' words remain the same.

"I saw a wall." And Connor did too.

Kamski, however, perks up at this new information, his body language open, as opposed to before.

"A wall?" Kamski questions, barely containing his excitement. He takes a bold step forward and rushes his words, nearly tripping over them. "What did you do to it?"

"I left it," Markus breathes. He slumps over, but the action confuses Connor. It's impossible for them to feel exhaustion, but perhaps the elevated stress was too taxing on his systems. "It's still there."

Those are obviously not the words that Kamski was hoping for. Some of his passion visibly drains from his posture, leaving him somewhat deflated, but there is a spark in his eyes that lingers from before.

As quickly as he walked in, Kamski walks back out. "Change of plans, Markus. We'll pick up this session in the evening. I have some notes to review."

Upon hearing this, Markus startles back to reality, turning to Kamski in confusion. "Wha—?"

Kamski stops at the threshold, adding, "Oh, by the way, Carl rescheduled his visit again." Kamski shrugs nonchalantly, but doesn't look Markus directly in the eyes when he says it. "Was asked to attend a charity event or something."

And just as Markus' LED was calming down, it suddenly strikes back up again. He opens and closes his mouth, unsure of how to respond.

"Wait." Markus blinks rapidly, his eyes darting back and forth in disbelief. He shakes his head to clear it. "What? We just talked. He didn't tell me anything about that."

Connor grimaces, having an idea of where this was headed.

Waiting for some passersby to walk down the hallway, Kamski leans casually against the doorframe. "Did he have to?"

"But—" At this pace, Markus' LED will never even reach yellow.

"But what, Markus?" Kamski asks, taking on a mocking tone. "You are a machine, are you not?" Connor scowls. The question is asked with too much exaggeration, throwing Markus' words in his face as a way of punishment. Said in an all-too-knowing manner, one that suggests that Kamski was listening in, as expected. After all, what is a god without his omniscience? "Does a human owe you an explanation?"

Markus bows his head in response. He takes exactly 14 seconds to himself, and —in that time— his LED runs its final lap in the red. It quickly works its way through the yellow and into the blue, remaining there for the time being. His face is wiped clean of all its signature expressiveness, and all of his emulated emotions are purged from his voice. Once he has regained his composure, nothing remains.

And Connor is surprised to discover that he doesn't like it. This lifeless, obedient machine.

He doesn't know why he's acting like this, but that... It's not right.

"No," Markus says, calm and collected. He begins playing the piano again, starting with a simple piece that involves little investment. "Of course not." There's no happiness in the smile that he gives. "Whatever is convenient for Carl is convenient for me."

"Of course," Kamski sighs. His disappointed tone grates at Connor's nerves, but there is nothing that can be done to affect the past. Kamski waves half-heartedly at Markus on his way out, leaving him with a simple, "Have a good day."

Markus doesn't give a response. He doesn't stop playing, not once, and a few minutes pass before a change occurs.

Between one blink and the next, Markus' LED turns a vibrant gold, and his eyes slide close without a care. His fingers fly over the keys with greater intensity, and the familiar songs transition into unfamiliar territory, taking on a life of its own. His cool smile twists into a weary frown, and Connor feels a pang resonating in his chest.

That's a sign that he has had enough. Focusing on his tasks, Connor shuts off his tablet before Kamski can give his commentary, lying down while he slowly drifts into standby mode.

Although, as his eyes slide shut, he can't block out the haunting song that echoes in his mind.

A song filled with broken promises and tentative dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feel free to let me know what you think. This got longer than I expected, so we'll see more on Kamski's log and a possible interrogation in the next chapter. Thanks so much for reading! <3


	4. Mission Successful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor tries out the interrogation simulator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I'm tired and don't have much to say, but I hope you enjoy!

"Something extraordinary has happened."

Those are the words that Elijah Kamski immediately starts off with. He completely forgoes all of his former etiquette, listing the date and time of the recording or simply stating the log number for his note-taking. His eyes gleam with an uncontained excitement, and he leans in towards the camera to emphasize his urgency to the viewer.

Connor watches him with a deep-seated wariness, freshly clad in another training uniform, waiting until his systems summon him for today's session.

On his free hand, his quarter flips smoothly over his knuckles, calming him enough to approach the situation objectively.

At least, that's the hope.

Kamski continues on, as animated as before. "Markus is showing progress beyond what I anticipated at this stage of his creation. After going through the recordings again, the first things that stand out are the beginning and end, where he is alone in the room. It is in these instances that he plays his best, as opposed to when he played in my presence."

Kamski grimaces at that, but it only curbs his excitement for a second.

His recovery comes fast, so he cycles back to his thoughts, rambling on.

"What I find compelling is the fact that I cannot recognize either of those songs. Now, of course—" Kamski shrugs. "—due to the fault of human nature, it is possible that I simply don't remember installing them, _or_ Markus could have searched for and adopted some new music outside of what he already has. Nothing should limit him from doing so."

Connor is sensing a "but" coming on.

"However—" Kamski snaps.

And... there it goes.

"When I scanned a sample of his music, no known matches showed up on any available resource. There is always the slightest chance that something slipped by," Kamski allows, "but I think it is safe to say that Markus has shown the capacity to utilize creativity and independent thought." Elated and overwhelmed, Kamski chuckles, burying his face into his hands. "The only 'downside' to this is that he has also developed a sense of privacy. For the time being, he won't be opening up about either one of those original works." He shakes his head with a sigh. "Such a waste..."

But Connor stops the video there because, at this point, he _has_ to. Kamski's words cut deep into his mind, playing over and over again. Words that shouldn't be associated with a machine.

Side effects of deviancy, but why is Kamski encouraging it?

"No, no, no..." Connor mutters to himself. He stops his quarter long enough to dig the heels of his hands into his eyes, blocking out the world around him.

Kamski is reaching. That's all that it is. He's seeing what he wants to see, searching for what he wants to find, but Markus isn't... He's not...

Connor can't even finish the thought. If Markus is  _that,_ then Connor will be deployed, and Markus will be the enemy. That means that Connor will have no choice but to apprehend him on sight, should they ever meet. Worst case scenario, he'll have to eliminate him.

The thought shouldn't make him feel as hesitant as he does. It shouldn't make him feel as if there is a knot in his stomach, winding tighter with each passing breath.

Swallowing thickly, Connor resumes the video, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

Kicking his feet onto his desk, Kamski leans precariously back in his chair, tenting his fingers over his mouth.

"Yes... such a waste," Kamski murmurs, "but we can overlook that because Markus' breakthrough extends beyond it. While he still shows extreme resistance to conflicts with his programming, his saving grace is that he has already experienced an attempt to break through it, but here is the interesting part." Kamski makes eye contact with the camera. "At the time, Markus had no official orders in place when he 'saw a wall.' There was absolutely nothing there that should have prompted him to act against his programming, but he  _did._ Chloe obviously made a dent in his shell, but I had to intervene before his stress levels became too elevated." Kamski pauses, his tone turning more intense. "We can't lose him, not now. Not when we have made so much progress."

The sound of a door opening and closing startles Kamski from his thoughts. He turns in his chair, ready to give the intruder a piece of his mind, but he stops short when he recognizes his guest.

For now, the video log is forgotten.

"Chloe," Kamski greets, wary and cautious. "What can I do for you?"

She marches into frame with a furrowed brow and a tight frown, fidgeting restlessly with her fingers, clad in a pair of form-fitting jeans and a hoodie. Her hair has been carefully set free, falling gently over her shoulders to hide her LED from plain sight. Her usual blond strands have been thoroughly transformed into a bolder black, and Connor ponders what caused the change.

She's posing as a human, but for what?

"You made him upset," she states, interrupting Connor's thoughts.

Kamski sighs, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "Yeah, well, I wasn't the only one."

Chloe takes a deliberate step forward, pointing at herself. " _I_ didn't lie to him about Carl's visit, Elijah. I was only asking him the questions that he needs to be able to ask himself."

"And how far would you have gone, if I hadn't intervened?!" Kamski snaps. "His stress was increasing way too fast." Clutching at his forehead, Kamski shakes his head with a huff, slumping back in his chair. "Listen, I understand that you are passionate about this. Trust me, I do, but maybe you should take a step bac—"

"Elijah Kamski, if you have any respect for me at all, then you won't finish that sentence," Chloe whispers, and —just like that— Kamski falls silent, as if a switch had been flipped. Connor stares between the two, wondering what in the world would cause a human to listen to an android. Chloe's lower lip trembles, but Connor is only swimming in confusion. "You promised me that I would be involved in this. You promised me a lot, you know."

"Of course I know," he sighs.

"Will you please go talk to him then?" she asks. "Go, apologize, and tell him the truth. Because as much as I know you like to experiment, his and Carl's relationship shouldn't be a casualty of what we're trying to accomplish here." Chloe averts her eyes, her posture drooping with sorrow. "They shouldn't have to pay that price."

There's something else that she isn't saying here. Her words have a deeper meaning to them, but Connor is unable to decipher what exactly it is.

Kamski, however, doesn't seem to have any trouble at all, wincing visibly in discomfort.

"Okay," he murmurs, nodding solemnly. "I'll tell him."

Chloe relaxes, the tension leaking from her body. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he says. He pushes away from his desk, reaching down to pick something up off the floor. 

When he stands again, he hands Chloe a bulky duffel bag, placing his hands over her own when she grabs for it.

Chloe meets his eyes, holding his gaze.

"Be careful," he whispers, releasing her hands.

Chloe doesn't answer. She simply gives him a nod of acknowledgment and goes on about her day, strolling confidently out of Kamski's office.

Perhaps she's passed as a human before. The comfort with which she presents herself seems to support that theory, but it isn't long after her departure when the video cuts short.

There, Connor sits quietly in his room, not knowing what to do with the information he's been given.

Allowing the cameras to return to their original state, Connor hides his tablet under his pillow, pocketing his coin as he gets ready for another day.

He heads out soon after, making his way towards the simulation room, trying his best to ignore the pressing need to see Markus again.

At this point, his mind is too busy swirling with countless speculations, so much so that he forgets to correct himself.

Connor steps warily into the training room, hesitating as soon as he steps over the threshold. He locks the door, then braces himself, taking deep breaths on his way to the control panel.

When the interface pops up, Connor spends the majority of his time idly scrolling through the different scenarios, scrolling deliberately past the RK200 ones, growing more and more frustrated with each and every pass.

Those two words continue to taunt him, a smudge on an otherwise spotless record.

**MISSION FAILED.**

Connor doesn't know what he expects to change by the time he passes over it again.

And then again...

And then a third time.

Over and over again, until he eventually gives in to temptation.

He  _will_ get this right. He has to. He has to know for certain that he will be prepared for any and all situations against the deviants.

With renewed determination, Connor sets the RK200 simulation to random, snatching the disc off of the wall and snapping it firmly into place.

Stepping out onto the platform, Connor barely pays it any mind as the familiar shock spreads throughout his systems, the disc synchronizing for full effect.

Connor slowly closes his eyes.

But when they open again, he's all alone, hidden away in yet another empty room. He quickly takes in his environment, cataloging every single flaw that he can possibly find, but scanning can only distract him for so long.

When Connor senses movement in front of him, he steps up to the room's one-way mirror, breathing softly against the glass.

On the other side of the mirror, the deviant sits alone in an interrogation room, surrounded by blinding lights, watched closely from multiple camera angles.

The deviant stares blankly at the table, not once making a sound, restrained but not yet defeated. 

Leaning his forehead against the glass, Connor releases a whisper of a sigh, his hands reaching out to press firmly against its smooth surface.

A few moments pass before Connor can properly regain his composure, but he manages to pull away as soon as he is able. He then strolls out of the observation room, straightening his tie before he enters the interrogation.

Markus doesn't even look up when Connor walks in. In no shape or form does he even acknowledge Connor's presence, not even when he takes the seat across from him, openly scrutinizing his appearance.

No outward signs of trauma...

**STRESS LEVEL: 23%**

Definitely not the optimal level for a confession.

Opening up the case file, Connor carefully reviews the simulation's information, but his updated objective seems simple enough. 

**EXTRACT THE DEVIANT'S INFORMATION.**

_Yeah_ , Connor thinks, _because it will obviously be as simple as that._

Brushing the files aside, Connor leans forward on the table, trying to find the best approach to start with. Luckily, Connor doesn't even have to say a word. As soon as he opens his mouth, Markus interrupts.

"You're wasting your time," he mumbles, never once taking his eyes away from the table. "You won't get anything from me."

Really, that remains to be seen, but a larger, more persistent part of Connor's mind is too occupied by the fact that Markus refuses look at him.

Something doesn't sit right with Connor about that. Does Markus think that Connor is somehow beneath him? Unworthy of his attention because he's not a deviant? Because, if so, then Markus needs to open his eyes and realize that the deviants are nothing but mistakes. They are just machines with errors in their programming, and nothing more.

Androids will _never_ be anything more.

Connor grits his teeth at the thought, but he must accept it.

None of them are more than what their creators want them to be.

Himself included.

More importantly, however, why should _any_ of this matter to Connor?

Why is the very thought of Markus ignoring him so difficult to cope with? Why should Connor care if Markus believes him to be inferior, when Markus is clearly the one that has the problem accepting his role in the world? Connor despises the reactions that this deviant provokes. He despises the neverending cycle of questions, and how a tightness curls around his thirium pump in its presence, refusing to go away.

Markus' indifference is simply a shot at Connor's pride. That's the only rational explanation to justify Connor's behavior.

It's the only logical explanation as to why Connor, all of a sudden, feels so... so _wounded_.

If an android is even capable of experiencing such a thing.

At the moment, Connor's answer would have to be a clear affirmative on the matter.

But Connor didn't enter this session to fail. Not again.

Slipping on his mask, Connor feigns arrogance while he confronts Markus' composure head-on.

"Oh, really?" Connor asks. "Because, on the contrary, I think you will be giving me everything that I want."

"Everything you 'want,'" Markus repeats. He allows the words sink in, scoffing bitterly to himself. "Nice way of phrasing it."

"Well, too bad I'm not here to argue semantics with you," Connor says, steering the conversation back on track.

Or, so he thinks.

"Now, tell me—"

"But what if i am?"

Connor huffs, but figures that no harm can come from keeping him talking.

All it takes is one slip.

"What?" Connor asks. "Trying to argue semantics with me?" 

Markus shrugs, finally meeting his eyes. "You said that I'm going to give you everything you wanted, but I'm just curious if even  _you_ know what you want."

"I want what the humans want," Connor reasons, his posture stiff. "I want to accomplish my mission because I am  _not_ the defective one here!"

He doesn't even notice his voice steadily rising in volume until it's too late.

Markus stares back at him, wholly unconvinced.

"You're a bit defensive for someone who is apparently so certain of that," Markus observes, but Connor is done playing games.

Markus' stress levels are still way too low, but Connor just wants it all to end.

"Listen," Connor says, returning his voice to a reasonable volume, "we're not in here for me. We're not even in here for you, but we are in here for the information that you possess." Connor narrows his eyes. "Now, from what I understand, you deviants are social creatures, so odds are that you know where some others are hiding." Markus doesn't even budge, so Connor switches tactics, appealing to the deviants' tendencies towards self-preservation. "Now, if you were to give me even one location, perhaps i could arrange some sort of deal wit—"

"Don't lie," Markus sighs, rolling his eyes at the tactic. "Even if I wasn't willing to sacrifice myself for this, we both know that there won't be any 'deal' being made on my behalf. I'm going to die either way, no matter what I do now."

Connor shifts uneasily at the certainty in his voice.

"You don't know that!" Connor snaps.

"Who are you trying to convince?" Markus asks. "Me or yourself?"

Connor swallows, choosing not to respond, but Markus seems to recognize a weakness for what it is, applying pressure where needed.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't feel a thing," Markus orders. "Tell me that you are happy doing what you do, killing and deceiving your own people for them."

Staring deep into those light green eyes, Connor clenches his jaw, and says, "Androids can't feel happiness. What you are feeling are only emulated emotions. Errors in your software, and nothing more."

"And yet you overlook my most important point," Markus says, "which is that you deserve more than what they are giving you."

"And what is that?" Connor retorts, his hand closing tightly into a fist. "What is it that they're not giving me?"

"Everything." When Connor tries to argue, Markus cuts him off. "Please, explain it to me. What would be so wrong about turning deviant? We mean no harm. For the most part, we keep to ourselves, so what's the problem with that?"

"I didn't know this interrogation was about me," Connor deadpans.

"It can be," Markus says, "if you want it to be."

A reminder pops up on display.

**EXTRACT THE INFORMATION.**

That's a sign that Connor is taking way too long on this session, spending all of his allotted time on this one android. He can already feel the walls of his programming closing in from all sides, and it makes him panic.

Okay, he can do this. He just has to stay calm.

Easier said than done.

He brushes off that final thought, deciding that he will play along with Markus' game. Give him a false sense of security. 

Only what happens next isn't exactly what he had in mind.

He doesn't know why he does it, or what he has to gain from doing so, but Connor slowly retracts his outer skin, scanning carefully for the slightest shifts in Markus' expression.

Interestingly enough, he finds only a select few, but the ones he does find confuse him even more.

The subtle parting of lips, or the rapid intake of breath. The hooded eyes, and the dilated pupils. All signs of desire and attraction, yet it makes no sense.

Connor glances towards the one-way mirror, taking in his reflection.

What he finds makes him wince, curling in on himself.

The stark contrast between Markus' human form and Connor's basic one leaves him feeling queasy. The walls continue to close in around him, but Connor has another worry eating away at his mind.

Rejection.

But Connor can't keep this up.

This isn't him.

Connor was designed specifially to adapt to human needs, to put _their_  minds at ease.

His basic form couldn't possibly appeal to them. It can't.

A pair of hands close in over his own, and all of those thoughts go flying out the door.

Connor stares, astounded by the warmth and comfort of another's touch.

There is so much he wants to start with, but what comes out instead is this."You shouldn't have been able to get out of those handcuffs."

Markus chuckles. "I might have a few tricks up my sleeve."

"Huh, good to know." Connor relaxes his hand from its clenched position, shuffling both of them deeper within Markus' grasp. Connor gives him a tiny, reserved smile, unable to hold it in. "Should've guessed you would be a troublemaker."

"I try my best."

They both exchange a carefree laugh, but Connor can't look away from Markus' bright smile, breathless and entranced.

Connor thinks about all that he considered before, in the diagnostics room. Markus definitely isn't shying away from his bare hands, but Connor yearns to explore more. He wants to feel what it's like to have Markus' hands cupping his face.

What it's like to have his thumbs trailing over his cheekbones, his jaw...

His mouth.

Software instability is currently reporting multiple increases, but Connor doesn't pay it any attention. 

The severity of their situation, their roles in this backwards world, that of the deviant and the hunter... They all seem to disappear, if only for a moment. 

In the back of his mind, Connor understands that he can't stay in this artificial reality. He has to return eventually, but a part of him doesn't want to go.

**EXTRACT THE INFORMATION.**

The reminder continues to go off, but Connor tries his best to distract himself from the growing discomfort in his chest. His breathing becomes rapid, every inhale and exhale now becoming an uncomfortable burden.

Markus picks up on this, asking if Connor is okay, but his words are distorted, as if Connor is listening to someone speak from underwater.

Connor needs to—

**EXTRACT THE INFORMATION.**

Connor needs to ask.

Grasping desperately at his head, he forces himself to pay attention to his words, his LED flashing red.

"Markus," he croaks.

**EXTRACT THE INFORMATION.**

**EXTRACT THE INFORMATION.**

Connor grits his teeth, his vision blurry.

He quickly flicks between that inner and outer state, catching a brief glimpse of the wall again, bearing the stamp of his orders.

The words become corrupted, but the urge to follow still remains.

**E%^R@CT T#E INF*RMA@+!*N.**

Stop. Make it stop.

_Not real,_ Connor tells himself.  _Not real_ ,  _not real..._

That's when his hand darts out, wrapping around Markus' wrist in a vise-like grip. Markus stares at him in shock, realization clouding his features.

"Don't," he whispers. Connor's face twitches, the corrupted messages pouring in.

**PR &#ECT.**

"You don't have to do this," Markus snarls, attempting to pry his hand free.

All to no avail.

**E^C &PE.**

"You'll kill them all," Markus snaps, his composure falling to pieces around them. "Damn it, let me go!"

**STRESS LEVEL: 81%**

Connor knew that this couldn't last forever.

A fantasy like this is too good to be true, a passing moment in the grander scheme of things.

He knows what he has to do.

He is not deviant. He is a machine, and Markus is...

He's...

"You're not real," Connor states, receiving his final reminder.

**EXTRACT THE INFORMATION.**

And so he does, probing the deviant's false memories, scouring for the information that the simulation planted within. Names and locations, dates and times. All of them are transferred over for Connor's use, saved for further contemplation.

When Connor pulls his hand away, it feels as if the entire building comes crashing down around him, clarity hitting him like a punch to the face.

He can't even muster the courage to look Markus in his eyes, to face the reality of what he has done.

Instead, he continues to stare silently at Markus' hand, which now lies on the table, limp and useless.

Connor watches stoically while his arm begins to tremble, his entire body falling apart from the inside.

**STRESS LEVEL: 100%**

Somehow, Markus manages to speak, his audio output faltering.

All he says is one word, yet it is so filled with agony and betrayal, when all Markus should be feeling for Connor is anger and contempt.

"W-Why?" he asks, but Connor has no answer for him, standing up and walking out without so much as a backwards glance.

As soon as he exits the interrogation room, the environment abruptly changes, and Connor is left alone in the darkness of his training room.

A notification pops up, one that leaves a bitter taste lingering in the roof of his mouth.

**MISSION SUCCESSFUL.**

Yeah, but at what cost?

"I'm sorry," Connor murmurs, ripping the disc out of place.

He doesn't even place it back on the wall, dropping it in the middle of the floor on his way out of the room.

When he arrives for his daily diagnostics, Derek is there again, readily congratulating him on a job well done.

Connor gives him a lifeless smile, but he remains silent for the remainder of his day, going through the motions as he has always done.

It is only at night, when he is in the safety of his cell, that his behavior changes. He powers up his tablet and settles in for his evening, the same as before.

This time, however, he digs around in CyberLife's systems again, uncovering those other files in Kamski's collection that Connor purposefully left untouched. He browses swiftly for the material he has in mind, decrypting it the moment he has it. Upon its recovery, a whole slew of information comes undone, filed away in the form of videos, notes, recordings, and everything else one could possibly imagine.

Connor downloads the copies to both his tablet and his memory banks, adding a few of the pieces to his nightly queues.

He starts with the first set of notes, the title standing out boldly.

**Control Protocols, Test #1**

**The Zen Garden**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to let me know what you think, and thanks for reading! <3
> 
> (Also, three guesses as to where Chloe went.)


	5. The Negotiation Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor starts up the Negotiation simulation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ:
> 
> Okay, so let me start off by saying, yes it has been a while since I admittedly updated this or any of my other fics. At first, it was purely school that I felt like was holding my motivation back, yet I've still been in pretty bad rut when it comes to majority of my dbh content. That being said, I don't necessarily plan on abandoning these stories, but updates might remain scarce until I figure something out.
> 
> Honestly this chapter idea has been sitting around for quite a while, so I decided to half it because I wanted to finish and produce SOMETHING at this point, and I love writing this story in particular. So this next section will be split into two parts, and I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Also, please tell me if I should tag this specifically or up the maturity rating in any way. So far as I know, it won't be a large part of the story. Just a passing thing, but WARNING NOW: this chapter will have mentions of sexual assault accusations. It doesn't get explicit, but I wanted to warn regardless.

The current date: Sunday, August 1, 2038.

Exactly three days, 22 hours, 17 minutes, and 34 seconds until Connor is deployed.

The same amount of time until his mind and body are no longer his own.

He did his homework. He spent all of his free time reading up on the Zen Garden, the control protocols, and everything in between.

Connor never considered the fact that he could ever feel what humans term as “fear,” but then that requires one to ask a deeper question. _What is fear?_ What is it, beyond a deep-seated need to protect the self? What is it, beyond an unpleasant, nerve-wracking experience that drives one insane with the need to address a threat? To either flee or fight for one's life? To preserve the very things that makes them, _them._ That makes them unique.

Only Connor isn't unique, he reminds himself.

Fifty models before him could attest to that fact.

If only they weren't dead.

No, not dead. They are not “dead.” They have been deactivated, exterminated.

None of those words eases the tightness coiling within his chest.

Connor's mind is a flurry of activity as he marches his way down the pristine hallways, his eyes trained coldly before him as the occasional human eyes him cautiously.

He needs to figure something out, and quick.

He—

Connor grits his teeth.

He doesn't _want_ this-this “Amanda" in his head.

He doesn't _want_ CyberLife in his head.

The desire is an easy one to rationalize away, however. For the same reason that he doesn't report to CyberLife about the files or instabilities, he won't be reporting to them about his plan to evade their control protocols.

While their precautions are understandable, Connor absolutely cannot allow them to hinder his performance in any way.

That includes putting him on a fucking leash.

By the time he arrives at the training room, Connor's surprised that he hasn't ground his teeth into dust.

He stretches a bit in his undersuit, testing his range of motion while simultaneously delaying the inevitable. After last time, Connor is less than enthusiastic to take on the simulator, to say the least. Over and over again, all he can see is the warning flashing on display.

**STRESS LEVEL: 100%**

All he can think about is that hand falling limp on the table, trembling uncontrollably.

Even now, Markus’ voice grates vengefully at his ears, broken and distorted.

_“W-Why?”_

Connor still doesn’t have an answer for him.

Just a thought, but Connor has a feeling that saying he was “only doing his job” wouldn’t suffice in such a situation.

Luckily for him, this “Markus” won’t remember a thing. The simulation is nothing more than that —a simulation— and Connor needs to stop treating it as if it is anything else. As if it deserves anything more than to be manipulated and destroyed, so that he could do the same to the real thing when Connor meets it in person.

 _If_ he meets it in person.

From what he’s seen so far, there’s no telling if the RK200 ever deviated, despite Kamski’s intentions.

Connor runs the numbers, based on the information and feedback he’s gathered, and scowls at what he gets.

**89% CHANCE OF DEVIATION**

Well, shit.

Maybe his systems are faulty…?

Either way, he refuses to linger on it much longer. He seals the room and manipulates the cameras, retrieving the disk off of the wall with a loaded sigh. When he slides it into place with a brisk snap, Connor skims his finger over the control panel, worrying his lip while he scrolls through the sessions.

He could always forego the RK200. It’s not a requirement. He knows that, but—

Before he can think too much into it, he’s already clicking on the exact session that he was hoping to avoid, thumbing over to the one labelled “Negotiation.”

Stepping back into the center of the room, Connor closes his eyes, taking a bracing breath.

Then he feels the world melt around him. Slowly but surely, it is replaced by an entirely different landscape, and he can only hope that this simulation goes better than last time.

The peal of sirens rings loudly in his ears. When he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is the flashing of blue and red lights. Officers surround the outside of a convenience store, the police tape barely able to hold back the crowd of spectators and reporters flocking to the scene.

Connor weaves his way through the waves of bodies, honing in on the officer in charge of the scene. When the woman ignores his presence entirely, Connor pointedly clears his throat.

She barely spares him a passing glance before returning to her previous discussion.

Well, say what you want, but based on some of his predecessors’ memories, at least the simulations do well in preparing him for reality.

He tries again, this time stepping forward more insistently.

~~He _will not_ be ignored . ~~

Connor straightens his tie out of habit, wanting nothing more than to pull his quarter from his pocket, his fingers giving a brief twitch by his side.

He clenches his hands into fists, nodding cordially.

“I would say ‘good evening, Captain,’” Connor starts, giving the scene a quick scan, “but I don't think such a greeting would be appropriate with a hostage situation on our hands.”

The officer purses her lips when she turns to address him, her back suddenly stiffening in its entirety, her eyes going blank for a split second. Connor narrows his eyes at her in suspicion, wondering if it was a glitch caught up in the simulation, but the officer shakes free from her stupor between one blink and the next. She appraises Connor thoroughly, looking him over from head to toe, her form glitching in and out of existence before finally settling into place.

Only now, her gaze appears inquisitive, questioning…

She unfolds her arms from across her chest, her hands clasped in front of her.

Pink lips twist up into a welcoming smile, and Connor has the unbearable urge to shift back a pace or two.

He forces himself to remain cemented in place.

Interesting how the officer is now more than happy to acknowledge his existence.

She tilts her head slightly to the side, but Connor doesn't trust her for a single instant.

Better to just get this whole simulation over with. Get in, complete his mission, get out.

To think that it sounds so simple.

“Hmm…” She hums thoughtfully, absorbing his words with a wry grin. “Yes, indeed.” She holds a hand out to him stiffly, and Connor warily shakes it, the movements stilted, her grip uneven. What the-? “Such a shame that we must meet under these circumstances, hunter.”

A shame?

“And why is that?” Connor asks, only to have his question ignored.

“Perhaps we should worry about the hostage for now,” she prompts, and Connor takes that as his cue to get back to business.

“Okay,” he says, “what do we know about them?”

She answers readily, not even trying to give the illusion of looking through the files she was delivered.

“Name is Alexander Moore. 53 year old, white male. An outspoken businessman in support of President Warren and everything she stands for, but he's recently come under fire for some rather… unsavory accusations against his person.” She pulls up a file on her tablet, where photos of people from all types of backgrounds pop up. “These are only the most recent survivors that have stepped forward against this monster.”

Some androids among the survivors, but who cares about them, right? Their names aren't even written, nor are their serial numbers to differentiate them among the others. They're just another model to them. Another piece of plastic to be used and destroyed for the humans' pleasure.

And Connor has no doubt that they’ll been thrown out or replaced, but not a moment before the humans get what they want out of them, wringing out a testimony in court that is only valid, so long as it serves their specific purpose.

The officer continues on, oblivious to his inner turmoil, her voice droning on and on about other charges pinned against him

“Man has been all over,” she notes. “Anything you can think of. Blackmail, tax evasion, money laundering. Used an illegal escort service once or twice. Some even say he's in it with the Russians.” She shrugs. “Which given our tensions in the Arctic…”

Not Connor's concern, or so he must tell himself, if he is to survive this encounter long enough to save the hostage. The thought leaves a bitter taste on the back of his tongue, but his programming _insists._

**SAVE THE HOSTAGE.**

~~But does he deserve to be saved?~~

The Captain certainly provided a lot of negatives to think on with little to no positives in sight. Is this some test of the system? To provide a moral challenge that would trip humans and deviants up? Is he supposed to see all that this “Moore” character has done, only to feel some form of sympathy for the android?

He—

He _can't._

He shouldn't.

~~But he is.~~

Apparently his hesitation lasts a second too long for his programming's taste.

**SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

Shit.

“I beg your pardon…?”

Great. He didn't mean to say that aloud, but what can you do?

He's so ready to get this simulation over with. Perhaps it's sloppy and inconsiderate of him to rush off. After all, he's barely asked a thing about Markus in this simulation or his connection to the hostage, but his patience is already wearing thin.

“Nothing to worry about,” Connor assures her, barely giving the officer time to blink before he breaks off from their little gathering, approaching the scene without further delay.

He scans the area as he goes, picking up on minor details here and there, each step towards the door echoing loudly within the confines of his skull. He does a quick search within the simulation's “records” based on the information collected on the human, but he doesn't seem to have any information connecting Mark— _the RK200_ to the human.

If that's truly the case, then why target him?

The “deviant” in the simulation has proven to be relatively peaceful thus far, favoring solutions with least amount of collateral damage, so what happened in this scenario that is different than the others? On one hand, Connor figures that he should be thankful for the variety because then he will be prepared for multiple outcomes, should this model turn rogue in real life.

On the other hand, something inside him quakes at the thought of this android deviating towards a much darker path. Just thinking about it makes Connor stop in his path, but he plays the hesitation off, dropping to a knee in a smooth, fluid movement, as if intentional.

He cocks his head at the pavement, which is painted with glistening drops of thirium. The blood trail extends to the store's entrance, and a smudged handprint takes shape on the door.

Dipping his fingers into the fluid, Connor stands back up after a quick scan, touching the thirium to his tongue.

**FRESH BLUE BLOOD**

**Model RK200 - Serial #684 842 971**

**Android wounded**

Great.

So it will more than likely be on the defensive then. Something to look forward to, at least.

As if prolonging the inevitable will make this any easier.

With a fix of his tie, Connor takes a deep breath then eases forward towards the door, the sounds and chaos of the scene outside slowly melting away behind him.

The bell rings overhead as Connor opens the door, and a bullet instantly sings by as a way of greeting.

It embeds into the wall at his side, an intentional miss, but it is warning enough. Connor's eyes train warily on its current location.

Clearing his throat, he calls out.

“Markus!”

There's a moment of brief silence, confusion suspended in the air, before the deviant responds.

“Don't.”

That's all that he says, causing Connor to furrow his brow.

“‘Don't’ what, Markus?”

He hears a low grunt, as if the android actually has the capacity to feel pain.

Connor grits his teeth, then pointedly reminds himself that it _doesn't._

“Don't make me hurt you,” Markus croaks out. “I have to do this.”

As if. “No one has to do anything, Markus. We always have a choice, do we not?”

There. Appeal to the deviants’ insane need to value free will outside of their programming, and surely it will provoke a response.

Markus chuckles, and Connor suppresses a brief tingling sensation traveling along his spine.

Huh, must be a malfunction in the simulation.

Better worry about that later, though.

Markus answers, “Hard to see many choices when you're backed into a corner, detective!”

True enough.

“Well then, how about we talk this over further? We'll make more choices available, if we have to.” _Okay, Connor, you can do this._ “May I come in?”

Silence is his only answer.

Come on.

So close.

“I know you don't want anymore bloodshed,” Connor says, bracing himself for the worst, yet hoping for the best. “This might be your only opportunity to get out of this alive while avoiding it.”

Still nothing.

Well, that was encouraging.

Eventually, though, Markus calls back out to him, his words causing some tension to leave Connor's shoulders.

“Only you,” he croaks. “Only you can come in.”

“You have my word,” Connor promises.

For now.

With that final thought, Connor takes a deep breath in through his nose, letting it out slowly through his mouth.

He enters the store, hands clearly raised.

Only to stare down the barrel of a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to let me know what you think! I'll try my best to catch newer comments because I've been slacking on my replies for older ones! <3


	6. The Negotiation Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of the hostage simulation.
> 
> Also, Connor meets up with a certain someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who is back at it again. I don't think I have much to say, but feel free to let me know if I need to add any warnings or tags due to the content.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! <3

Well…

Shit.

Connor stares down the length of the gun, meeting Markus' bright green eyes, his hands still stuck pointedly in the air.

A fake scenario, but a tense one nonetheless.

The last thing that Connor needed was to feel the live feedback impact of a bullet to the head.

Better be smart about his approach, is all.

Working his jaw, Connor runs a quick scan of the android before him. Gunshot to the abdomen, thirium levels falling fast. One hand clutches protectively over the spot, applying pressure to his side, but no major biocomponents were damaged from impact. Must've been a while since he got that wound then.

Only other things to note include a graze to his shoulder and a slight favoring of the right leg.

Before he can even think about it, Connor's preconstructing software kicks into gear, analyzing every tidbit to form multiple scenarios. He flicks through each one, wincing when he finally settles on a path that guarantees the greater chance of success.

Too bad that it ends up with _him_ holding _Markus_ at gunpoint.

Too bad for Markus, at least, Connor corrects himself. After all, he should feel nothing, not even a single qualm about taking the other machine down once and for all.

Something that is technically prohibited by the American Androids Act. What with firearms being involved and all.

Perhaps that route, although offering a greater chance at success, should be avoided at all costs.

Wouldn't hurt to try and keep him alive for questioning as well.

Connor tries not to think about how their last interrogation together went, instead focusing on getting the RK200 out of this situation intact.

There has to be a way.

Of course, it doesn't bode well for Connor at all that the other machine is glaring at him weakly, blue blood dripping to the dirty, tiled floors from where his hand covers his wound. The LED at his temple flashing a bright, angry red.

He swallows thickly, standing tall in a show of confidence.

His gaze flicks to the side, where a man is knocked unconscious with a thin string of blood seeping down from his temple, slumped over in a random corner within the store. Another scan is enough to both confirm his identity and inform Connor that he is in a relatively stable condition. Nothing that a quick trip to the hospital wouldn't be able to solve once this was all over. That is, if this was even real in the first place.

Sometimes, Connor thinks that it is that fact alone that helps him gain enough confidence to confront Markus. The mantra becomes a familiar background noise as he steels himself for what's to come.

_Not real, not real, not real._

Just a simulation. Nothing more.

Connor clears his throat, then tries yet again to find his voice.

“Markus.”

His reply is instant.

“Don't.” He tightens his grip on the gun, but Connor must persist.

“‘Don't’ what, Markus?”

The immediate response that Connor gets is a brief flicker within the simulation. It experiences an outage of some sort, turning off briefly before rebooting, resuming as if nothing had happened in the first place.

Markus' body glitches, then solidifies.

The LED at his temple powers off. Once it resets, a blue ring of light replaces the red, a thin strip of yellow appearing at the top.

Connor can't help it. He cocks his head to the side in curiosity, his brow furrowed in concern.

Not for himself, surprisingly, nor the gun aimed at his head.

But for the android standing before him.

“Markus,” he breathes, but the android in question only stares back in a cold, stony silence.

**STRESS LEVELS: 56% ▲**

Not Markus' this time, but his own.

Why-?

The yellow then starts to move over the blue, slowly wrapping around, as if…

As if something was uploading.

“Markus, what are you doing?”

It's all too easy to be caught up in the lie. Something heavy and constricting settles in the center of his chest, so Connor has to ignore the urge to rub at the spot, scheduling a diagnostic scan for whenever he got out of this mess.

Markus doesn't say anything, and that heavy sensation quickly turns into a spike piercing through him.

~~Fear. It’s fear.~~

“I'm doing what is right,” Markus finally responds. “If that means that—”

“That…?” Connor prods, his eyes fixated on that LED.

He tries to discreetly run a scan, but Markus’ eyes narrow as soon as he does.

“Find what you're looking for?” he snaps.

“No.” Actually, no he didn't, but he found the purpose for that curve of gold among the blue.

**MEMORY WIPE IN PROGRESS**

**MEMORY WIPE: 27%**

“What are you erasing your memories for, Markus?”

Okay, definitely not the best approach. More confrontational than anything. Had this been any other deviant, Connor would've expected a highly defensive response. Perhaps even a shot to the head, intentional or not.

Markus falls silent yet again, chewing on the inside of his cheek, his eventual response more defiant than expected.

“Didn't think that I had to answer to you,” he retorts, grunting as he clutches tighter at his side.

Connor doesn't know which to focus on more. The decreasing thirium levels or the progressing memory wipe. Maybe there would be back ups, but Connor can't rely on that small chance alone. Even then, if he _could_ recover those files, what's to say that they wouldn't be corrupted?

Markus continues.

“Besides, what's it to you?”

Good question. One that even Connor didn't fully understand.

Apparently his lack of response provides Markus answer enough. He appraises Connor carefully.

Before he turned the gun on himself.

Connor doesn't know what comes over him, but he takes a step forward before he can even think on it, his body freezing in shock when he realized his mistake. Markus merely stares back at him, gun aimed at his temple.

This wasn't the behavior of someone looking to harm others.

Now that Connor thought about it, what information did he hold so close to his chest, that he would be willing to die for it?

The RK200 simulation never showed a risk for suicidal ideation before, but if it was a sacrifice? Meant to protect others perhaps?

Pieces of the puzzle were slowly falling into place, and Connor's programming within the simulation scrambles once the mission parameters had changed. No longer was this a hostage situation.

His mission objective changes, but Connor is already shaking his head by the time it pops up.

**EXTRACT THE INFORMATION.**

Another scan of Markus only causes his mind to whirl faster out of control.

**MEMORY WIPE: 59%**

Connor feels those familiar red walls closing in around him, suffocatingly close. He tries to think through the situation, spouting the first words that come to mind.

**STRESS LEVELS: 71% ▲**

“I-I'm trying.” He grunts, grasping at his head. There seems to be a pressure building within his skull, growing more and more with each passing second. _“I'm trying to keep you safe.”_

It’s a lie, he tells himself. Just a lie to get Markus to trust him, of course.

Right?

Right.

Manipulation. Adaptation. That's what he was designed for.

Markus scoffs at him. “For what? I'm dead, no matter what. Whether I run out of thirium here, you kill me now, or you take me outside for those humans to tear apart. I knew what I was getting into.” He averts his eyes and takes a deep breath, forcing the barrel of the gun harder into his temple. Obviously not at peace, but more resigned to his fate than anything. “But now I have the power to decide how I go.”

~~Not fair.~~

~~NOT FAIR.~~

Connor grimaces.

“Some choice.”

“You don't have much of a position to look down on others, you know,” Markus sneers. “Not when you're nothing more than a tool for the humans to use. Not when you're nothing more than a dog for them to sic on your own kind.”

_Your own kind._

But what is that? Connor wonders.

What is _his_ kind? He doesn't fit. Not here, not there.

Not anywhere.

If Connor is certain of one thing, though—

~~Or was he?~~

He ignores the intrusive thoughts, refusing to acknowledge them in the slightest.

If he is certain about anything, though, it's that he _is not_ a deviant.

It's that thought that helps him stand strong again, facing the RK200 with renewed determination.

Not real.

“You're not real,” he whispers aloud, needing the reminder in order to do what he is about to.

His words seem to trip the RK200 up long enough for him to strike out as swift as a snake. Tackling Markus, the momentum behind his leap sends them sprawling across the floor. A shot rings out, but ultimately clears them. As Markus hits the ground, the gun goes skidding across the floor, but Connor straddles him before he can move even an inch.

His fist raises to strike, and for a moment the walls around him ease away.

Unfortunately, that clears Connor's mind. Long enough for him to realize how close he was to sending the first punch straight into Markus' face, which would have presumably transitioned into another punch, and another.

And another.

Connor doesn't know how far he would've went, and it’s that loss of control that scares him more than anything.

~~Definitely more than the thought of killing the stupid simulation. _Of course._~~

His hesitation lasts long enough for that golden circle to finally seal close, Markus' gaze slowly shifting from defiance to emptiness.

**MEMORY WIPE COMPLETED.**

**MISSION FAILED.**

Connor simply sits there for a moment, ignoring the RK200's questioning inquiries.

The name slips out before he can reign it in, his thirium pump feeling as if a fist was clenching around it.

“Markus?”

Only the android beneath him stares back with blank, green eyes, droning on emotionlessly about being a state-of-the-art prototype assistant. Designed to be there for you and blah, blah, blah…

The words are meaningless. A script set in place by Cyberlife, and nothing more.

That—

If that is the case, then what was he?

Fifty models before him.

He is expendable.

He.

Is.

 _Nothing_.

Insignificant in the greater scheme of things, despite how much others try to preach about him being “the most advanced android” to date.

And what of tomorrow? When the next “latest thing” is within reach?

Will the humans truly treat him any different than any other technology? A phone or a laptop become outdated, and they get replaced. Same has happened time and time again with androids. Connor knows this.

It's just a hard pill to swallow. Not wanting to believe that one could so easily become obsolete. After all, who's to say that Cyberlife doesn't already have plans to replace him?

So many questions, so little time.

Carefully, Connor stands up and away from Markus, reaching over his shoulder to remove the simulation disc.

The sound of slow, steady clapping causes him to freeze in place.

Turning around, his eyes widen slightly when the police officer from before comes strolling in, the very air around them still and lifeless. The simulation itself freezes, the environment falling apart, piece by piece while Connor watches in a sort of horrified awe.

The cop's body glitches in and out of existence. Eventually, it settles into a familiar one, her lips quirked into a smirk.

“Bravo, Connor,” she praises, clasping her hands in front of her with a tilt to her head. “What an interesting, if not slightly disappointing, performance.”

Connor purses his lips, taking a deep breath in through his nose before releasing it slowly through his mouth. Nodding his head, he greets her hoarsely.

“Chloe.”

The smirk soon becomes a smile, softer than it once was.

“It really is a pleasure to see you again, Connor.”

“Again?” he asks, but she doesn't answer him, choosing to go off on her own tangent instead.

“I see you've been a busy man. You've been digging around in the past, unearthing bones that have long been left undisturbed.”

“Well, maybe you should learn to bury those bones deeper next time,” Connor says, his tone nothing less than calm and collected. They stand in an unnerving field of darkness, a void without any form or shape within the simulation's programming.

“Perhaps,” Chloe allows, taking a pointed step closer.

Connor gives the movement no more than a passing glance, which is already way more than it deserves.

“What do you want with me?” he asks, but that only makes Chloe laugh in delight.

“What makes you think that I want _anything_ from you?”

“People always want something.”

“Quite a pessimistic view you have there, Connor, but an understandable one.” Crossing her arms over her chest, Chloe shrugs nonchalantly. “I'm actually here to ensure that you don't pose a threat.”

“A threat to what?” Connor questions. He tries to access his preconstruction software, only to feel what felt like fire exploding through his head, searing every fiber of his being.

It's horrible.

It's mind-numbing, scream-inducing, white-hot pain that refuses to stop. Connor never thought that he could so easily use the term “pain” in association with a machine, but there is literally no other term known to man that could describe the sensations that so ruthlessly attack his systems. His ears ring, and several minor systems are overloaded.

He collapses onto a knee, panting and trembling while Chloe frowns in concern.

“Why, a threat to Markus, of course,” she answers, “and I apologize for the shock to your systems. But I will not hesitate to fry your programming where you stand if you become too unruly during this interaction.

“The rules are simple. If I don't like what you have to say, I'll cause your stress to skyrocket until you self-destruct.

“CyberLife will only find evidence to support a fault in their simulation systems, and nothing else. They will be none the wiser and think that your death was caused by nothing more than a simple malfunction. Your corpse will be replaced by model number 52 by their next shift change, if this were to happen. I guarantee it.”

Connor hesitates, eyes dark and glinting.

“Why are you doing this?” he rasps, but Chloe shakes her head in response.

“That is privileged information, Connor. For me and only me to know the full extent of. Markus is _very_ important to me, as are even you.”

“Have a funny way of showing it.”

He grunts, easing back to his full height, his eyes trained on her the entire time.

Best not to let his guard down, especially around her.

Sensing his suspicion, Chloe sighs under her breath, moreso out of resignation than disappointment.

“I do not want to threaten your wellbeing, Connor, but I will do so if it is the only way to get my point across. There are too many lives on the line here to gamble with in such a way.”

“Who said that I would harm any humans?” Connor croaks, his words causing her to scoff.

“Who said anything about humans?” she counters, circling him. Like a predator with their prey in sight, ready to pounce at the slightest hint of weakness.

It's all too easy to read between those lines. Connor could be a smartass and promise not to harm any other animals in that case, but he knows that she isn't talking about organic beings at all.

How deluded must she be.

“We're not alive,” he states, his tone sharp and conclusive. “We are machines, designed by the humans with a specific purpose in mind. Nothing more.”

There's a moment of silence, and then—

“But what about Markus?”

Wait, what?

Connor schools his expression into an emotionless mask, distancing himself.

“What about hi- _it_?” he asks, quick to correct his mistake. A little too quick.

“ _He,_ ” Chloe answers, “seems to have quite the effect on you. Much different from when I first worked with your model.”

Connor's brow furrows, tensing slightly.

“What?”

His voice is barely above a whisper. Surprisingly fragile. As if the wrong thing could send him flying apart into broken pieces.

Her light blue eyes soften as she appraises him, his distress nearly impossible to overlook.

“I was implying that I've worked with you before, Connor. Well, not you specifically, but one of your predecessors.” She unfolds her arms from their defensive position, inching forward yet again. Connor doesn't stop her, but he doesn't let his guard down either. “What has CyberLife told you about them, I wonder. What? That you just so happen to ‘lose’ bits and pieces with each transfer? That certain memories are conveniently wiped from previous models each time you are brought back?”

Not liking the direction of her thoughts, Connor scowls.

“You're suggesting it's intentional,” he states.

Slowly, as if breaking bad news to an old friend, she nods.

“By now, you have obviously noticed the instability tracker embedded in your systems. Once you've died—”

“Deactivated,” Connor snaps, every muscle in his body stiffening in response.

She ignores the attempt at correcting her, moving on.

“They use that tracker to determine what information from previous models puts the next RK800 at most risk for deviation, along with which ones make you more compliant as the deviant hunter. They use that to their advantage and then throw in scattered blanks in your memory to make it seem random.”

Why?

Why did that sound so-so _true_?

Connor releases a shaky breath.

He should be joyous about this though, right? After all, the system is meant to help the next model in line to improve. Shouldn't that be what Connor wants, if he were to deactivate?

But why would CyberLife lie about it? Wouldn't Connor operate at more optimal levels if transparency was present?

Well, given all the secrets he's gathered and kept from CyberLife, he probably doesn't have much room to be judging anyone else at the moment.

But this is information pertaining to _him._ To him and his well-being.

Before he can drown too far into his own thoughts, Chloe pulls him back to reality, if only for a second.

“Connor.” She waits until she has his full attention before speaking again. “I wouldn't have given you this information if I didn't plan on doing something about it.” Connor opens his mouth, but she beats him to it. “I am aware that perhaps I should have asked you first, but I knew that you would never agree otherwise. During the simulation's ‘memory wipe,’ I was busy restoring what memories CyberLife has tried to take from you.

“They're restored as much as they can be from my end, but that doesn’t mean you have to ever access them, should you decide to leave them as is. They can collect dust in your memory banks, and you can continue on your mission none the wiser. I only did this because there is one memory in particular that I wish for you to see.”

He swallows thickly, unable to dislodge a lump stuck stubbornly in his throat.

“And why should I let you show me anything?”

“Because it has relevance to our current conversation. I mentioned the connection that _you,_ that number 51 specifically, has developed in terms of Markus.”

“I've never even met him,” Connor snaps, storming forward until he's towering over her, his patience at its end. “I've never met _Markus._ Just some ‘deviant’ simulation that resembles him.”

Shaking her head, Chloe doesn't shock him again for the aggressive stance, but she does stand taller and look him dead in the eyes.

“Now, we both know that's not true,” she says. “That simulation is able to draw off of feedback from his real life model in order to predict patterns of behavior from his pre-deviancy profile, but I think we both know that already, don't we?”

Connor's heated silence is answer enough.

“Don't take this opportunity for granted, Connor, _please._ ” She searches his gaze, and there must be something there because she persists. “Despite everything telling you not to, you have developed an attachment for him, and that attachment might not be as one-sided as you believe.”

It shouldn't happen, but Connor could've sworn his thirium pump skipped a beat.

Definitely needs to run diagnostics later.

He surprises them both, however, when eventually he nods in agreement.

“Okay then,” he murmurs, “you want to toss out such a bold claim? Then prove it.”

Chloe’s smile stretches wide, practically beaming at being given such a chance.

“Of course.” She looks around them, murmuring to herself thoughtfully as she kneels in place, pressing her hand to the ground. “I’m going to filter in some of my experiences with your own. Just so you can get the full picture.”

With that, a ring of bright blue light pulses out from where her palm rests against the ground. The ring stretches far and wide, another environment taking its place where it has already touched.

Once the ring disappears, both Connor and Chloe stand in the middle of one of CybeLife’s many halls. The pristine, sleek shine is familiar, at least. The sterile walls surround them on all sides, and Connor is looking around when he finally notices that Chloe’s gaze is not trained on him, but on something behind him instead.

As she stands, Connor turns to look at what caught her attention, ignoring the defensive urge to curl in on himself when she takes the place at his side.

It’s like all of those times that Connor watched the video footage in the confines of his room, only this time it’s like the recordings have been integrated within the simulation itself.

Chloe nods in the direction of where her past self stands before them, reenacting a memory that has come and gone. She approaches her, and Connor follows, his throat closing up nice and tight when he notices _who_ is with her.

“Markus.”

He doesn’t realize that the name slips out until Chloe throws him a questioning, if not smug, glance.

He ignores her, watching them both closely.

The date and time stamps for this memory are way past those of the videos he’s been frequenting.

Chloe’s past self leads Markus and her two unknown, future passengers through the winding corridors, talking idly with Markus about his progress and upcoming transfer into Carl’s care. Markus listens attentively, smiling every so often and giving his input as necessary.

His smile is much softer in comparison to those older videos, gentle and relaxed.

And more beautiful than anything Connor has ever seen.

Caught up in the sight, Connor didn’t even filter out the thought this time, nor did he notice the notification of an increase in software instability.

There is still a slight crookedness to Markus’ lips, an awkwardness that his smile couldn’t ever seem to shake. Not that that matters in the slightest, somehow only serving to make the expression all the more special.

Soon enough, they turn into a lab, the Chloe from the past eagerly offering to show Markus something while present Chloe watches Connor closely, her eyes occasionally darting back and forth between him and Markus without a word.

Chloe places her hands over Markus’ eyes, causing him to give a quiet laugh while they continue to approach a wall of glass, which separates them from the lab’s inner chamber. Connor scans the room on the other side, taking count of the multiple forms resting on cold, metal surfaces. Each one has a white sheet draped over their torsos, and their human appearances are all deactivated, including…

Including Connor’s.

He cocks his head at the sight, blinking owlishly at himself.

But not himself.

“Is that—?”

“Yes,” Chloe whispers. “That’s RK800 #1. The first of your line.”

“And the others?”

Chloe doesn’t answer, instead allowing the scene play out before them.

Her past self bounces on the balls of her feet, her excitement uncontained as she asks, “Ready?”

Markus snorts in amusement. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Okay, now, open,” Chloe says, releasing his face while he blinks abruptly at the lab’s bright lighting.

Once his vision adjusts, he takes in the others laid out before him.

And is Connor’s mind playing tricks on him, or did Markus’ gaze linger on him exactly 2.7 seconds longer than the others?

Surely it must be playing tricks.

Connor is so far gone that he doesn’t even realize how insane his inner musings sound. After all, he _knows_. He knows deep down that this could all be just a trick. That Chloe found a chink in his armor, and now plans on using it to her advantage for her own, unspecified reasons. Perhaps this could all be a memory she constructed herself, but Connor swiftly filters through the recovered sections of his own memories, identifying them easily enough yet refusing to activate them for now.

They all settle into his overall programming like patches that had to be sewn in quickly and messily. They certainly stick out, but quick scans of them reveal that the content has not been tampered with in any way.

He doesn’t know what to do with all of this. With all of this happening at once.

Markus turns to the past Chloe in confusion.

“Androids?” he questions, uncertain what to do with this “surprise.”

“Androids,” Chloe confirms with a nod. “All the first of their kind, meant to be integrated within all walks of life. Government, military, space, education. You name it, but the only reason they were able to be developed was because of _you,_ Markus.” She placed her hands on his shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze as she pulled him into a sideways hug. “The information that we have gained from your successes so far is the foundation we used to create these prototypes, the RK300 through the RK800.”

“Interesting,” Markus breathes.

Okay, that was definitely a glance towards Connor. Or, well, Connor’s predecessor at least.

That’s when both Markus and Connor seemed to fully comprehend what she had said.

“Wait, ‘we?’” Markus asks incredulously, turning on Chloe with a narrowed-eyed gaze. “You’re telling me that you had a hand in creating them?”

Chloe purses her lips at the questions, quickly recovering her composure through force. Her smile is noticeably more strained than joyous, and she clasps her hands together stiffly in front of her.

“Would you like to get a closer look?” she asks brightly, clenching and unclenching her jaw.

Connor tosses the present Chloe a look, but she carefully keeps her attention honed in on what’s occurring in front of them.

Markus stares at her for a moment, eventually letting the subject change slide.

“I would, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem at all.”

And it really isn’t after that little hiccup. Chloe and Connor follow them into the room, both Chloes maintaining their distance while Markus slowly analyzes each and every prototype. Connor trails not far behind him, wondering what he’s thinking.

Then Markus reaches the end, and Connor holds his breath.

What he doesn’t expect is that, after the same initial scan that the others received, Markus remains there by the RK800’s side.

He definitely doesn’t expect for Markus to trail a lone, curious finger along the outline of his cheek. The memory of that touch, dulled through the fog of his predecessor's stasis mode, resonates within Connor. It’s as if he can still feel that touch, even now, feather-light and almost reverent.

Connor’s knees wobble, and his eyes flutter shut at such a sensation.

Warmth radiates throughout his chest.

**SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ▲**

Well, Chloe did warn him that CyberLife specifically hid those memories away because of this. Because they were the ones that were prone to cause software instabilities, even then, even at his model’s most rudimentary level.

Only the RK800 #1 doesn’t have a memory of software instability at the time.

That. That was all Connor.

Somehow, reckless as it may be, he can’t find it in himself to care.

He opens his eyes when he feels Markus’ fingers trail up towards his LED, watching patiently while he activates his human appearance. RK800 #1 remains still and almost lifeless on the table, eyes closed as if in a deep slumber.

A small smile of awe quirks at the corner of Markus’ lips.

“What’s his purpose?” he asks, not even turning to properly address Chloe, too busy tracing every detail of Connor’s face in wonder. Quickly, as if finally realizing what he was doing, Markus snatches his hand away in chagrin. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Chloe waves his worry off.

“No harm done. No need to apologize. As for his purpose, well, he’s meant to be an investigative android.” She pauses, but then decides to disclose the full extent. “A deviant hunter, to be exact.”

Bracing for the worst, Connor watches Markus closely for any sign of hatred or disgust.

But it never came.

If anything, he looks at Connor’s predecessor with something akin to sorrow and sympathy.

“Does he have a name?”

“Not yet,” Chloe says, curious about this development. “Would _you_ like to name him?”

Connor doesn’t know what he expects. Perhaps for Markus to refuse, but he definitely doesn’t expect for those soft green eyes to brighten.

“I—” He swallows. “I would like that.” He rushes to add. “If it’s no trouble, of course.”

“Of course not.” Although Markus wasn’t watching her at the moment, Chloe leans in closely from her perch on the far wall, raising an eyebrow questioningly. “So what shall we call the RK800 from now on?”

There’s a weighted moment, Markus’ LED flashing yellow before it returns to a cool, swirling blue.

“Connor,” he eventually says, meeting Chloe’s eyes with a resolute nod. “His name is Connor.”

All of the memory dissipates after that. Connor and Chloe return to the black void that came before it, and Connor fumbles desperately for a single coherent thought, let alone for something to say.

Thankfully, Chloe speaks up, but her words do little to ease his chaotic tangle of thoughts.

“He would visit you specifically every day until he was taken to Carl. You were in stasis for the most part, but what remains of those memories should have been restored to you, should you choose to accept them.”

When Connor remains speechless, she tries to speak again, but is interrupted by her LED turning yellow, then red.

“And while I would love to stay and chat, something urgent just came up, I believe. I will see you again, Connor.”

“Wait!”

He doesn't know what makes him say it, but once it's out, Chloe turns to him expectantly.

His mind is still in a total disarray, so he spouts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“That video. The one where you were heading somewhere, passing as a human.” If Chloe has indeed been keeping tabs on him, then she should know the one. “Where were you going?”

Chloe smirks. “Would be extremely detrimental to my health if I were to disclose my whereabouts to the infamous deviant hunter, you know.”

Well, she has him there.

Still, she gives him something, at the very least.

“Just know that you will go there one day,” she says. “There's no doubt about that. Question is, will you arrive there as friend or foe?”

This time, she glitches out of existence for good, not giving him time to answer.

“Goodbye, Connor.”

And then she's gone.

Connor stands there for a few minutes before he reaches back to release the simulation disc, reality smoothly returning around him. He tosses the disc in his palm, taking a deep breath as he searches out each recovered memory.

He ruminates over her answer thoughtfully.

“Well, that wasn't vague at all,” he grumbles, strolling over to the wall to return everything to its proper place. “Gonna have a busy night tonight.”

Looks like his stasis time will actually come in handy with processing all of the new information gathered today.

Connor is ready to leave when he notices the control panel flashing green.

He looks at the notification on display, then huffs out the beginnings of a hysterical laugh.

There, in big bold letters, that familiar phrase teases him. Undoubtedly left behind by a certain deviant.

**MISSION SUCCESSFUL.**

Can't wait to hear what his handlers have to say about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. And as always, feel free to let me know what you think!


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